The Shadow of Your Smile
by singing.mouse
Summary: Christina's cousin flies in from London to write and coordinate the next cover story for Mode. Disclaimer: I do not now, nor will I ever, own the characters, ideas, items from Ugly Betty.
1. Splendidly Attractive Nerdiness

The Shadow of Your Smile

_Chapter One: Splendidly Attractive Nerdiness_

"Oh! Betty!" Christina said, running over and grabbing Betty's arm as she passed by in the lunch room on floor 28. She dragged Betty over to the table where she was having lunch with the tiniest woman Betty had ever seen. "Betty, I want you to meet Anastacia Watson."

The woman stood and didn't come any higher than Betty's shoulder. She was tiny all over. Incredibly small in every way, including her voice. "Good afternoon, Betty," she said, a light British accent settled gently on her speech. "Christina has told me so much about you. I simply could not wait to meet you in person."

Betty shook the tiny woman's hand and said, "I wish I could say the same. Christina hasn't mentioned you to me at all, Miss Watson." The three women sat down and began their lunches again. "So, Miss Watson—"

"Please," she interrupted Betty quickly. "Call me Anastacia. Or Ana, as Christina has fondly dubbed me."

"Okay," Betty said, a little surprised by the interruption. Most models she new would have rather she call them Ms. X— rather than by their first names or even a nickname. She wasn't sure if Ana was a model or not, but she looked like one. "Ana, what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a model," Ana replied lightly, munching on a pastry of some sort. "But I do a lot of freelance work, writing articles and the like. What do you do?"

"I'm the assistant to the editor in chief," Betty said, thinking that of _course_ this tiny person sharing lunch hour with her was a model. No one that small _isn't_ a model. "So, what magazine do you work for?"

"_Mode._ So, what's Daniel Meade like?" Ana asked, quickly changing the subject. "I heard that he's not incredibly intelligent and that he didn't really _do_ anything to earn his job. Is that true?"

"No and yes."

"That's all you're going to tell me, Betty?" Ana pressed. "No and yes? What kind of answer is _that_? I don't mean to be rude, but, sweetie, if you want to survive in this business, you need to learn to come up with answers to those kinds of questions insanely fast. Otherwise, there's no hope for you. Especially if you're an assistant. You need to make your boss look good to the public."

Betty's attitude toward the British woman was growing steadily colder. "Listen, _sweetie_," Betty shot back, surprising Christina. "I don't know _who_ you think you _are_ or _how_ much better than me you think yourself. Where do you get the nerve to insult Daniel Meade the way you do? Where do you get the nerve to insult _me_ the way you do? I'll have you know I worked extraordinarily hard to _get_ my job and there's no _way_ I'm going to let you steal right from underneath me! Do you understand me?"

Ana smiled sweetly, then laughed. A quiet, bell-like tinkling of a laugh that only British women seemed to posses. "You think I want your _job_?" she asked, an amused smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Listen, Betty, I'm a model and a writer. There's no _way_ I want to be Daniel Meade's assistant. He'd be trying to get into my knickers within the first _hour_. I'm sorry. You can _have_ your thankless job." She leaned back and munched on a baby carrot. "Y'know, Chrissie. From everything you told me about her, you never _once_ mentioned she was such a spitfire. I like her, Chrissie. I really do."

Betty looked between Christina and Ana, bewildered. Christina seemed to have noticed her confusion, for she said, "Betty, did I forget to mention that Ana's my mother's cousin's daughter from London? She's here for a photo shoot for our _Then and Now: Women of Society's History_ cover story."

"What?" Betty asked dumbly.

Ana leaned across the table. "Betty, I'm Anastacia Watson, the poster child for the traditional British Victorian Lady," she said, smiling warmly. "There's no Victorian style I haven't worn. And no traditional Victorian pose I haven't done for hours at a time. My favourite's _The Secluded Library._ My brother favours _Angelique_, actually. He can't seem to get enough photos of me in that pose."

"_Angelique_?" Betty repeated, thoroughly confused. She was in no way familiar with modelling, let alone Victorian poses.

Christina smiled. "Angelique was our great-great-great-great-aunt who travelled to America when she was sixteen," she said. "She just up and left the Isles. There's a photograph of her that Ana here somehow found. It's absolutely beautiful. When her brother, Jonathan saw it, he had to photograph Ana in the pose. Jonathan's a photographer, y'see. And he's done nearly every one of Ana's shoots. Most of the photos in her portfolio he's done. Beautiful work, too, if I do say so m'self."

"And you did say so yourself," Ana nodded. "Anyways, when Jon saw the photo of Aunt Angelique, he knew that would become one of the most famous poses in Victorian modelling. He and I dug around in the _many_ props and costumes shops where we had connections and found a table, lounge chair and fan that were almost identical to the ones in the photo. _And_, to my mother's surprise, we found a dress that was _perfect_."

"Recreating an authentic photo in modelling isn't entirely easy, Betty," Christina said. "There are so many details that go into it. The clothing, the props, the lighting, the colour grade of the photo when it's been developed. But, somehow, our little Jonathan did it. And he was right: that photo has become one of the most famous in Victorian modelling."

Betty still was confused. "I don't understand," she said. "What's Victorian modelling?"

"In England, modelling is divided up by what time period you're representing," Ana said, explaining. "There are eight different sections of British Modelling. Primeval, Roman (during the reign of the Roman Empire in most of Europe), the Dark Ages, Renaissance, Elizabethan, Industrial, Victorian and Modern."

"But I thought the Renaissance _was_ during Queen Elizabeth I," Betty said.

The three women stood, gathered their trash, threw it in the garbage can and began walking towards Betty's desk. "Well, technically, yes, you're right," Ana replied. "But there are different styles of clothing all throughout the Renaissance that the stylists and designers split it into two categories. That way, Renaissance is what you would typically find at the Renaissance Faire, and Elizabethan is the hideous poofy clothing in the portraits of Elizabeth and others from the 1500s, where the sleeves of a 'simple' dress have nearly the same amount of fabric in them as the skirt—_each_. There's no possible way you could entice me to model for Elizabethan. I mean, who would _want_ to wear something that makes them look like a giant balloon of fabric?"

Betty shrugged as they reached her desk. "So you model for the Victorian Era?" she asked, shuffling through the papers on her desk. Ana nodded. "So do you wear all the traditional clothing? Like the corsets, the shoes, the underwear?"

"Yes," Ana answered brightly. "Even the corsets. You get used to it after a while."

"Ana, let Betty feel under your shirt," Christina suggested, earning a shocked look from Betty. "That's not what I meant, goose. Feel her stomach." Betty gently put her fingers on Ana's stomach, feeling something rather stiff and hard underneath the fabric of the British woman's blouse.

Ana guided Betty's fingers to her side and the Queens girl felt the same stiff something. Then the same something on Ana's back, but also something else, "Feels like lacing. Are you wearing a corset right now?"

Smiling, Ana lifted her blouse a little to show Betty the obnoxiously bright violet corset she was wearing under her blouse. "I always wear a corset, Betty," she explained. "Except when I'm in the shower. If I take it off for longer than a half hour, putting it back on is like going through hell. It's hurts more than you'll ever know."

"Once, when she was visiting a year or so ago," Christina chimed in, "she took it off for a _day_ and when we put it back on her, we broke three ribs. Corsets are no fun unless you're used to them."

"You broke three ribs?" Betty repeated, shocked. "Why do you even bother wearing it, then?"

"Because it's for my career," Ana answered, straightening her blouse. "I'm small enough to represent the Victorian Era, so I need to wear everything that they did for the shoots. But wearing a corset only occasionally is painful and really bad for your ribs, so I wear it all the time so I'm used to it. But back then, they wouldn't sleep with it on. However, I've only been wearing corsets since I was eighteen, rather than twelve, so I need to wear it when I sleep. Not comfortable, but we all have to make sacrifices for our art, don't we?"

Betty nodded. "Well, it was wonderful talking to you, Ana," she said brightly. "Even if there was a slight confusion at the beginning. But I do need to get back to work. Good luck on your article."

"Thank you, Betty," Ana answered, smiling warmly. She looked up from Betty's desk into the office directly across from it. _Everything is so round on this floor_, she thought, amused, as she examined the roundness of the office. Seated at the large glass-topped desk was a very handsome young man, at about thirty-two years old. "Betty, is that Daniel?"

The young assistant glanced up and answered, "Yeah, that's him. But, he's very busy, so please don't bother him. He has an appointment at one thirty with some hot-shot British writer who wants to talk to him about the next cover story…" She looked up sheepishly. "That's you, isn't it, Ana?"

Christina and Ana laughed heartily, and Betty noticed the family resemblance in the two women at last. They had the same laugh when they were genuinely laughing. "Yes, and it's about time to go in to see him, don't you think?" Ana responded, checking her watch. "I'll come down to the Closet when I'm done with the meeting, 'kay, Chrissie?" She gave her cousin a hug and a light kiss on the right cheek, then walked to Daniel Meade's office and knocked on the door. "Mr. Meade?"

He looked up from the paperwork he was completing and saw her with an incredibly confused expression on his face. "May I help you?" he asked.

"Yes," Ana answered, walking into the office. "My name is Anastacia Watson. I'm writing the cover story for the next _Mode_ issue. I know I'm a little early for the meeting, but I have an incredibly long list of things to do today, so I thought that perhaps we could get started early. That's not a problem, is it?"

After recovering from his initial surprise to see her, Daniel Meade stood and said, "No, not at all. Please, Miss Watson, sit." Ana sat in one of the chairs across from him and he examined her for a moment, then sat down as well. "I admit you're nothing what I expected."

"You were expecting a tall, rail thin Glamazon, then?" Ana inquired, laughing her little bell-like laugh. "No, Mr. Meade. I'm not a Glamazon. Far from it, actually. I actually like to eat." Daniel Meade chuckled. "But, that's not why I'm here. You wanted to know about the article I will be writing?"

"Uh, yeah," Daniel Meade said. "I need to know exactly _what_ you will be writing about so we can arrange for the photo shoot. What's the concept?"

"The concept?"

"Your point of view," Daniel Meade explained. "Will you be writing from an objective or subjective point of view? Will you be commenting on the social advances women have achieved in the last two hundred years or the fashion advances?"

"You misunderstand me, Daniel Meade," Ana said. "I do not tell anyone what I will be writing about until I have a draft of some sort already written. Suffice to say, I will be covering the Victorian Lady and the Modern Age Woman. Which means I will need models to represent the Victorian American Lady and the Victorian British Lady, during the different fashions of the era, as well as models for the Modern Age American Woman and the Modern Age British Woman, during the 1920 to today. Do you think you'll be able to find me enough models in time? I do not want to reuse models."

"That's –what?—eight models?" Daniel Meade asked.

"No," she answered simply. "That's eight models for the Victorian Era and eighteen models for the Modern Age. Twenty-six in total, in case your math skills aren't entirely up to par." She smiled sweetly. "No offence."

"Twenty-six models?" Daniel Meade repeated. "That can't be done. You're going to have to cut back some of your article."

"Fine," Ana said shortly. "Fourteen models."

Daniel Meade shook his head. "Fourteen is still too many," he said. "_Mode_ has a limited supply of models to use for our shoots. You're going to have to narrow it down more."

Ana sighed and rubbed her eyes. She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could speak, a young man entered the office and cut her off, "Mr. Meade? There's a problem with the budget for the next cover story. We can't afford twenty-six models."

"Thank you, Henry, I'm well aware of that," Daniel Meade answered. "I was just going over a few ideas with Miss Watson about cutting back on the models."

He gestured to Ana and she stood to greet Henry, who stood at a towering six feet, compared to her five feet, actually, and looked the poster boy for adorable nerd. She reached up and shook Henry's hand as she took in his splendidly attractive nerdiness. "Pleasure to meet you, Henry," she said. "I assume you work in accounting?"

"Uh, yeah," he answered. "Does it show?"

"Just a little," she whispered. "Do you have any suggestions to help keep us in budget? I'd love all the input I can get."

"Oh, you're the Anastacia Watson in charge of the article and shoot?" Henry asked, a slight blush creeping to his cheeks. She nodded. "I'm so sorry! I didn't recognise you out of your dress."

"I beg your pardon?" she asked politely.

"You know, your Victorian dress," Henry stammered, trying to regain his composure. His blush darkened and Ana saw Daniel Meade chuckling a little from the corner of her eye. "I have a copy of two of your photos."

Ana smiled and nodded. "I see," she said. "Which ones are they?"

"They're, uh, _The Secluded Library_ and _Angelique_," Henry replied, a thinking expression on his face. His glasses slipped down his nose a little. He pushed them back in place and continued, "I read that the _Angelique_ pose was taken from an actual photograph of your ancestor. You've done quite remarkable work, Miss Watson."

"Ana," she pressed. "And thank you, Henry. So, did you have suggestions for Mr. Meade and me for the budget?" He didn't answer her. "Henry?"

"Hmm? Oh! I'm sorry," he apologised. "I was lost in thought. Well, I had thought that perhaps we could use the people from the office for the shoot. You know, _real_ people representing _real_ people from history. What do you think?"

Daniel Meade nodded. "I think it sounds great," he agreed. "Miss Watson?"

"Ana," she insisted. Then she nodded too. "That could just work. May I?" She pointed to the chair beside her. Daniel Meade nodded and she climbed on top of it, feeling a sharp pain in her back, but ignoring it. "Henry, take two steps back." He complied and she gave him a look over, thinking quickly. "That would actually work," she muttered, the pain in the left side of her back intensifying a little. She still ignored it; her corsets usually caused bizarre, random pains in her torso. "Of course, he'd have to be the British gentleman. He doesn't have the physique for the American…"

"What have you come up with?" Daniel Meade inquired, watching as she muttered to herself, waving her index finger in the air in the direction of Henry, apparently planning something for him, while standing on one of his chairs.

"If it's all right with them," she began, getting off the chair, the sharp pain intensifying, "I'd like to use Betty and Henry, and, actually, yourself as the models, Mr. Meade."

"Call me Daniel," he said. "What do you have planned?"

"Well, Daniel, you and Betty would represent an American couple," Ana explained, internally wincing in pain, but never letting it show in her face. _Never let them see you cry, Ana_, she reminded herself. "And Henry and I will represent the British couple. We'll shoot several different photos, one for each succession of fashion trends. We save on models and money by using the four of us. And it'll be a nice twist on the traditional fashion magazine. I can't exactly say for certain what your father would say if he knew beforehand, but it isn't a feature spread, so we don't need his approval before we shoot it."

Henry's eyebrows were raised at the thought of his photo being in a magazine. But Daniel nodded, "I like it. But wouldn't it make more sense to use someone other than Betty?" He stood and leaned on the desk in front of him. "Amanda, perhaps? I'm not saying that Betty wouldn't be good enough, don't get me wrong. I'm just saying that Betty has very apparent orthodontia—that isn't period, is it? Shouldn't we use someone else who doesn't have braces?"

Ana arched a judging eyebrow. "Are you implying that Betty isn't good enough to be in your magazine as a model?" she demanded. "There is _nothing_ wrong with Betty! Besides, there are ways to hide her braces! She will do fine! And I _want _her to be one of the models for the article. And I want you and Henry to be models, too! End of discussion! I'll be back tomorrow morning at 10.30 sharp to discuss wardrobe with Christina, at which time, you two need to be down to the closet to be measured. ON TIME." She spun around and, grabbing her purse, stormed out of the office.

As she passed Betty's desk, she latched hold of Betty's arm and dragged her along to the ladies' bathroom. "Ana, what's wrong?" Betty asked, seeing the expression of pure pain on the British woman's face. "Are you all right?"

Ana shook her head and pulled her blouse off, turning her back to Betty. "Betty," she said, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. "I need you to see what's going on with the corset. It hurts worse than when I broke those ribs. What's happening to me?"

As she looked over her new friend's back, Betty felt the blood drain from her face. She gently touched a dark discolouration on the bright fabric of the corset. The corset was wet to the touch. When she pulled her hand away, her fingers were covered with blood. "Ana, you're bleeding!" she gasped.

Ana's hand found its way to the blood stain on the back of her corset. She looked at her blood-covered fingers, then turned to face Betty. "Betty," she gasped, the pain overwhelming. "Call Chrissie. Then call the medic."

"Are you going to be okay?" Betty asked, pulling out her cell phone as Ana slowly walked towards a chair. Ana nodded, then collapsed, falling roughly to the tiled floor. "Anastacia!"


	2. The Mary Watson Flat

The Shadow of Your Smile

_Chapter Two: The Mary Watson Flat_

"Her corset is whalebone and steel," Ana heard Christina tell someone when she woke up from the faint. "The whalebone lines the lacing in the back, forcing her to keep a straight back and the steel is steel boning along every vertical seam, keeping the rest of her in proper shape and form. Why? What happened to her, Dr. Loveless?"

A man sighed and replied, "One of the steel strips escaped from the fabric and pierced her back." Christina gasped and Ana felt a weight on the bed she was laying on by her knee. "Were it millimetres higher, it would have been able to slip between her ribs and puncture her lung. Your cousin is very lucky."

"Lucky?" Christina repeated. "She's _lucky_? She had _steel_ stabbing her in the back and she _fainted_ from the pain! In her entire life, she's only fainted _once_ before today. When she had a photo shoot in an incredibly stuffy room and she overslept and skipped breakfast. She has yet to do that over again! Anastacia Watson simply just does _not_ faint! And you're saying she's lucky?"

"Chrissie, leave the man alone," Ana said, sitting up, pain shooting up her back. "He's right, I _am_ lucky. The boning could have punctured my lung, like he said. Dr. Loveless, right?" The man nodded. "Dr. Loveless, what would have happened if the boning missed my ribs and punctured my lung?"

The doctor cleared his throat and said, "You would have developed pneumothorax."

"English, please?" Christina said.

"A pneumothorax is an accumulation of a gas, such as air, in the space between the pleurae of the lungs and the pleurae lining the chest wall (called the pleural cavity), occurring as a result of disease or injury or induced to collapse the lung in the treatment of tuberculosis and other lung diseases. A large pneumothorax is treated by inserting a syringe or a tube into the pleural cavity to aspirate air, which helps the collapsed lung to expand," Dr. Loveless clarified. "It's caused by escaped air from your lungs, through a puncture. It's painful and are treatable, but not with comfortable treatment."

Ana nodded. "Thank you," she said. "Will you excuse us for a moment?" He nodded and left. Ana sighed and laid down again. "How long have you been here, Chrissie?"

"Since Betty called me from the loo," Christina replied gently. "She was distraught, really, she was. She didn't know what to do. It was almost depressing. The medics were there within ten minutes, thinking you were one of the anorexic bitches from the office."

Ana smiled. "How is she now?" she asked. "Still distraught? Or running some insignificant errand for Daniel Meade, who apparently doesn't think she's good enough to be a model for my article?"

"He said that?" Christina laid down on the bed next to her cousin. "That doesn't sound like Daniel."

"Not his _exact_ words, but he implied it," Ana sighed, staring at the ceiling. It had been years since she and Christina had laid back, stared at the ceiling—or whatever, the sky—and just… talked. "And, yes, I gave him hell for it. Betty is a beautiful young woman. A bit fashionally-challenged, perhaps, but beautiful in an intelligent way."

"I couldn't agree more," a voice said from the door. Ana and Christina looked up and saw Henry standing there. "Miss Watson, are you all right? The doctor—"

"The doctor's trying to make it seem much worse than it is," Ana said, sitting up. "As is Chrissie here. Henry, I'm fine. A few stitches will take care of it."

"Well, actually, Ana," Christina said, sitting up herself. "The doctor thought it would be better if you didn't wear corsets anymore."

"Ex_cuse_ me?"

Christina quickly had the doctor come back in and explain that since it was a corset that put her in the hospital to begin with, that it probably would be best if she discontinued wearing them to prevent further problems with them and avoid costly hospital stays. "Corsets actually aren't a very wise choice of undergarment," he continued. "They cause all sorts of problems. They've been known to break ribs, collapse lungs, cause fainting spells… Believe me, Miss Watson, you're better off not wearing them anymore."

"What do you mean, I can't wear corsets anymore?" Ana demanded, pacing the small hospital room she had been placed in for supervision. "They're part of my career, my job _description_!" She threw an empty plastic water pitcher at the doctor. "Get out! Discharge me and get out of my sight!" Dr. Loveless did as she screamed. Ana burst into tears and sat on the bed. Christina sat next to her and wrapped a comforting arm around her cousin. "Chrissie, what am I going to do? I can't _be_ a Victorian model without wearing a corset."

"Well, first I suggest that you put a brassiere on," Christina whispered, seeing Henry looking out the window, a slight embarrassed blush on his cheeks.

Realising she was right, Ana hissed, "In case you've forgotten, I haven't worn one in close to six years."

"Oh," Christina said. She stood. "Right. I'll be right back, then." She dashed out of the room. A moment later, she stuck her head in and said, "In the meantime, make yourself decent, Ana."

Ana looked down and saw the 'indecency' that her cousin meant. Pulling on a sweater and crossing her arms across her chest, she looked over at Henry who was still determinedly looking out the window. "See anything interesting out the window?" she inquired, walking over to him and peering through the glass. He looked down at her, confused. "You've been staring out the window for the past five minutes, Henry." She gestured out at the city beyond the glass. "Anything interesting?"

"Your cousin made it out to the street from this room in three minutes," he commented, pointing at Christina running down the street to catch a cab. "She's fast." He smiled, amused. "So, how are you doing? Aside from the no corset thing?"

"Fine," she replied, sighing and watching Christina climb into a cab. "Wondering how I'm going to salvage my job from this. But, fine nonetheless."

"Your job isn't completely destroyed by this, you know," he said.

"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "Your job isn't dependant on your ability to wear size zero."

"You _whore_!" a man said behind them. Henry turned, but Ana ignored him. "What the _devil_ were you _doing_ that shredded your corset?"

"I don't remember inviting you, Jonathan," she answered, still gazing out the window. "This is Henry from accounting, by the way. Henry, this is my older brother, Jonathan. He's my publicist and photographer. Did Chrissie call you? Was that it? Because last I checked, you were in Brooklyn."

Jonathan crossed the room to her side. "Yes, Christie called me," he answered, turning her so he could asses the damage. "All the damage was to your back, right?" She nodded. "And the doctor said you can't wear corsets anymore… Well, we can get you a stiffened wool bodice and lace it tight enough under the dress. That should work."

"A stiffened wool bodice?" she repeated. "They don't make them small enough. The one I have will fit Chrissie. Besides, you know they have the shoulder straps and look bulky under other clothing. I hate that."

"Oh, come off it, Stacia," Jonathan sighed. "Don't be so particular. You'll look fine. Great, even. You just need to stop acting like a child and take care of yourself."

"Sod off, bastard," she muttered. "You know we're no closer to getting that contract than we were three years ago. Stop thinking we'll get it. We won't."

"Not with that attitude, anyway," Jonathan scolded. "Perk up. Smile. Even if you don't mean it. Come on, Christie's coming back."

Ana looked up and saw Christina walk quickly into the room. "Sorry it took me so long," she apologised. "Ana, come on." She entered the bathroom, a small bag in hand. Ana read the label on it, _Victoria's Secret_. Ana followed her into the bathroom, hearing Henry say, "Eight minutes. Impressive."

"She doesn't head your closet for nothing," Jonathan said. "So, Henry, right?"

Ana closed the door on their conversation and saw what Christina had bought her. Three different, but very cute brassieres in black, purple and red. "I didn't know what size you were, so I guessed," Christina admitted. "I hope 28C will fit you. Let's try it."

Ana took off the sweater so she was standing in her shift. She picked up the black one and put it, having Christina do up the hook and eye fastenings. "Ow!" she said. "I don't know how you can wear these everyday!"

"I don't wear them _every_day," Christina said. "Sometimes I wear a chemise instead."

"And you're getting upset with me for not having one," Ana muttered, adjusting the brassiere to fir more comfortably. "Ow! Dammit! I hope Mary Phelps Jacob rots in hell for making the first brassiere! Saints alive! I feel like I'm going to split in half. I'd much prefer the support the corset gives. At least that goes hip to breast and doesn't threaten to cut your back in half. High heaven!"

"You certainly have an interesting vocabulary when you're upset," Christina commented. "Come on. Put on your sweater and let's get you to the apartment. Betty and Daniel are waiting for us there."

Ana pulled the sweater on and walked out of the bathroom to see Jonathan and Henry waiting with very amused expressions on their faces. "Spot of trouble, eh, Stacia?" Jonathan asked, chuckling as they gathered their things and made their way out of the hospital. "Christie's right, you have an interesting vocabulary when you're mad."

"Sod off."

"Stacia, be nice," Jonathan scolded. "No one wants to work with a brat."

"Bite me, jerkface."

"Brassy, brazen witch on a mortgaged broomstick."

"Bambi with testosterone."

"Are you always this stupid or are you making a special effort today?"

"I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death."

"A sharp tongue does not a keen mind make."

"Brains aren't everything. In fact in your case they're nothing!"

"Now, Stacia, I don't think you are a fool, but what's my opinion compared to that of thousands of others?"

"Thou impertinent beetle-headed scullion!"

"What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?"

"Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Jonathan? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence."

"Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I love none."

"A dear happiness to women: they would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that: I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me."

"God keep your ladyship still in that mind! So some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate scratched face."

"Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such a face as yours were."

"Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher."

"A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours."

"I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep your way, i' God's name; I have done."

"Thou leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, knot-pated, agatering, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish pouch! You always end with a jade's trick: I know you of old."

"All right, _enough_," Christina said as they hailed a cab. "You two! You're more terrible than anyone I have ever met! And I work with the Mitchies!"

"Mitchies?" Henry repeated, thoroughly confused by everything that was just said. He was certain that Jonathan and Ana were quoting Shakespeare at each other, but why, he could not fathom.

"The bitches who work at _Mode_," Christina explained. "Jon, Ana, you need to stop with the insults for a while. Especially the Shakespeare."

"Fine," Ana and Jonathan sighed in unison.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the apartment that Ana always stayed in when she was in New York. It was lovely. Smallish, but lovely. She sighed as she dropped her handbag on the antique sofa. "I'm home," she smiled. "Sort of."

"Welcome home, Ana," Betty said, smiling from the large bay windows. "This is a really beautiful apartment. I love the antiques you've collected."

"Thank you, Betty," Ana said, looking around. "Where's Daniel?"

"He's marvelling at the Kohler furnishings of your bathroom," Betty answered, fluffing a pillow, then tossing it back to its place on the couch. "He's never seen such an expensive bathroom and he's a Meade."

Ana and Christina laughed. "Well, I'm certain he's seen as expensive," Ana said. "Perhaps he just hasn't seen one that continues the antique theme from the living room which continues to the bedrooms and the master bath and the kitchen." She sighed and lightly ran her hand over the back of the sofa. "But it suits me and that's what's important. Excuse me for a moment." She left to go change her clothes to something more comfortable and presentable.

Daniel came out of the guest bathroom and had a glazed expression on his face. "It's like going back in time," he said, dazed. "She has everything to make it look like an authentic bathroom from the 1800s. It's incredible."

"Yes, Stacia does like her antiques," Jonathan said, rummaging through the cupboards in the kitchen that connected to the living room. "She has an obsession with making everything _match_ in her apartments. She even has _names_ for them. This is called the _Mary Watson Flat_ and the one in London is called _221B Baker Street_. Doesn't necessarily help that the London apartment is actually _on_ Baker Street, but even so…" He pulled out a box of Cheerio's. "My sister is incredibly strange."

Betty walked across the apartment to the kitchen. "I don't believe we've met," she pointed out brightly. "My name is Betty Suarez and this is my boss, Daniel Meade. He's the editor in chief of _Mode_, where your sister is temporarily working."

"She'd like to make that temporary permanent, I'm sure," he muttered. He shook Betty's outstretched hand, saying, "Jonathan Watson. Anastacia's older brother, publicist and photographer. Nice to meet you."

"Oh, good introductions have been made," Ana commented, re-entering the living room from the hall leading to her bedroom. "I realised in the middle of changing that I hadn't been a proper hostess. Jonathan, don't eat _all_ my cereal this time, please." She straightened her sweater and sighed contentedly. "Now, Daniel, why don't we all have a seat and discuss the cover story for the next issue of _Mode_? Come, come. Sit down." She sat in a poofy armchair and gestured to the other armchair and the sofa. No one moved. "Sit!"

They all hurried to take their seats. Well, all but Henry. He just stood behind the sofa and gently leaned on the back. "Now, for those who weren't at the meeting earlier," Ana continued quickly, "we've decided to only use four people for the models: Betty, Daniel, Henry and myself. We'll be paired and dressed to represent two couples as they move through history and fashion trends. Betty, you'll be paired with Daniel to form the American couple and Henry will be paired with me to form the British. Christina and I will work on the wardrobe together to create authentic clothing for the shoot. Jonathan and I will work together to find the perfect sets to use for this. Betty, Daniel, Henry, you three just be at the closet at 10.30 am Monday morning to be measured and fitted for your preliminary outfits. From there, I'll speak to Daniel or Betty about securing the date for the shoot." She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair, thinking. "That is all."

"Okay, you went through that really fast, Ana," Betty said, chuckling. "Could you repeat some of it for me? You said you're using Daniel, Henry and… me? Why me?"

"Because, though you may be a little fashion-challenged, you are beautiful, Betty," Ana said, standing and crossing to the kitchen. She rummaged through the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of sparkling water. "And because I want to use _normal_ people to represent _normal_ people in history. And the only one who isn't entirely _normal_ is Daniel because he's nearly American royalty, but he's close enough. I suggest you two get closer so it will be convincing that you might just _possibly_ be in love for the shoot. We'll be representing _married_ couples."

"Well, what about you and Henry learning to pretend to be in love?" Daniel demanded, standing and following Betty and Ana into the kitchen. "Don't you need to work on that yourselves?"

"Well," Ana said, sipping her sparkling water straight from the bottle, earning a face from Daniel. "I don't need that much work to pretend to be in love with someone. He might, but I won't." She rubbed her eyes. "Now, if you'll all excuse me, I'm going to bed." She turned quickly and walked directly out of the kitchen and down the hall to her bedroom.

Daniel and Betty stared after Ana until she disappeared into a bedroom at the end of the hall and shut the door. "Christina," Betty said. "Your cousin is so weird."

Jonathan grabbed his wallet from the counter and muttered to Betty, "You have _no_ idea, love." He reached the front door and opened it. "See you all next week!" He swept out of the apartment without another word.

Sighing, Betty looked at the small, black mantle clock on the counter. "Daniel, we need to get back to the office," she said, gathering her notebook, pen and purse. "I don't necessarily trust Amanda to cover the phone properly and you have a meeting with your father that you need to prep for. Let's go." She walked to the door and waited for Daniel to grab his coat. "See you later, Christina, Henry." Daniel nodded a good-bye, then followed Betty out of the apartment.

Christina sighed and slid from the sofa, where she was seated, to the floor and stretched out. "I've always loved this rug," she muttered. She looked up at Henry, who walked around and sat in Ana's armchair. "Once, while she was in London, I stole it and put it in my apartment. As soon as she got here, she noticed it was missing and stole it right back while I was at work." She chuckled. "That's not the only thing that's changed hands between the two of us. She's stolen some of _my_ things from time to time."

Henry smiled, amused by the eccentricities that Ana possessed. He leaned forward. "What can you tell me about her?" he asked.

Raising an eyebrow, Christina propped herself up on her elbows. "You're interested in learning about Anastacia Watson?" she asked. He nodded. "_Why_ on earth would you care? She's a model who flies between London and New York and Morgan Hill whenever she feels like it."

"If I'm going to be working with her on the cover story, I'm going to need to know more about her," he replied. "And she seems to go at such an expeditious pace that I don't think she'll have the time to let me get to know her the traditional way."

"I'm going to assume expeditious means fast," Christina muttered. "Well, pull up some rug. And let me know when you're hungry, we'll raid her kitchen."


	3. Don't Tell Me I'm Wrong

_Chapter Three: Don't Tell Me I'm Wrong_

At about three in the morning, Ana woke up suddenly craving something chocolaty. She tried to rub the blurriness from her eyes as she ambled down the hall to the kitchen to satisfy her craving. But, she apparently failed to do so as she didn't see the shadowy figure curled up on her sofa until after she dug around in the small cupboard over the refrigerator for her secret chocolate stash and turned back to return to bed. After momentarily panicking, she cautiously approached whoever it was, a half-pound chocolate bar clutched tightly in her hand.

She couldn't tell who it was until she was right beside him. It was Henry. "Henry?" she whispered, poking him in the side. He gave a startled yelp and fell off the sofa, right onto Ana. They both fell to the floor with a _thud_ in a tangled mass of arms and legs, each trying to pull away from the other, with little success. And though Ana was giggling in her half-asleep state, their landing was not cushioned at all. "Oh, my lord," Ana groaned, sharp pain shooting up her back. "Oh, my hell. Oh, my hell. Oh. My. HELL."

"Oh, my god," Henry said, quickly separating himself from Ana and helping her up onto the sofa. "Are you all right? I'm so sorry, Ana."

_Never let them see you cry_, she reminded herself as tears pricked at her eyes from the pain. "Oh, my hell," she muttered again, the tears escaping her control and rolling down her cheeks. "Yes, I'm okay. Thanks, Henry. What are you doing here still? And why are you sleeping on my sofa? And why did you allow Christina to steal my rug?"

"She didn't let me stop her from stealing the rug," he answered, peering at her through the darkness. "She asked me to stay in case there were any problems. And I was sleeping on the sofa because I knew where it was, as opposed to your guest room. Are you crying?" He brought his hand up to her cheek and wiped some of her tears from it. "Are you _sure_ you're okay?"

"Yeah," she said, wiping the tears away. She grabbed her chocolate and stood. "Come on. You can't sleep on the sofa all night." She walked a little stiffly from the living room and down the hall. Henry hadn't followed, so she turned and said, "Henry. You're too tall to stay the rest of the night on my sofa. You'll have to curl up and then you'll wake up with a crick in your neck. Come on. Let's get you into a real bed." He still didn't move. "I am watching the future become history while you're still sitting on my sofa, staring at me."

He laughed and stood, walking over to her. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was just a little worried. You were walking a little strangely. Are you _positive_ you're all right?"

"Absolutely," she smiled. "Thank you for being so concerned." She opened the door behind and gestured him inside the guest room. "It isn't big, but it's comfortable. I sleep in here when my parents come to visit. There should be a pair of Victor's pyjamas in the bureau; top drawer. They should fit you proper. Good night, Henry." She smiled again and closed the door.

In the morning, Ana woke to the most divine smell wafting through her apartment. Stretching, she slipped out of bed and pulled on a light sweater over her pyjamas and wandered down the hall to her kitchen to find Henry there, cooking. "That smells heavenly, Henry," she yawned. "I didn't know you could cook."

He shrugged. "I only know a few recipes," he said, modestly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," she replied, retrieving a bottle of Kirkland water from the fridge. "Did you find some pyjamas that fit you?"

"Yes, thank you."

"What are you making, anyway?" she inquired, taking a drink from the bottle. "It smells like breakfast crumb-top cake."

"That could be because it _is_ breakfast crumb-top cake," he replied, retrieving dishes from the cupboard. "Your favourite, right?"

"Yes, but how—?"

"It's just something I know," he said, smiling teasing her. The timer sounded and he pulled the cake from the oven. He served up two pieces and brought them to the table where Ana was sitting. "There you are. Enjoy."

They began eating in comfortable silence, until Ana couldn't handle it any longer. "Henry," she said. "How could you just _know_ this is my favourite breakfast? No one but my mum knows that." He didn't answer. He just smiled and took a long drink of milk. Realization dawned on Ana. "…and Christina! It was Christina, wasn't it? _She_ told you!" He nodded, grinning. "I'm going to kill her."

"Don't do that," he said, chuckling. "She's amusing. And Betty needs her at _Mode_. Otherwise she'd lose her mind."

"So, what was that I noticed between you and Betty, anyway?" Ana asked, finishing her piece of breakfast cake. He looked confused. "Don't play coy with me, Henry. I could see definite sparks flying between you two. Do you like her?"

He blushed and stood, gathering the used dishes. "Of course I like Betty," he said quietly. "I don't see how anyone could _not_ like her. She's so nice. And kind." He started to silently wash the dishes.

Ana stood and crossed to his side. "You know, I _do_ have a dishwasher that does the exact same thing you're doing right now," she said, teasing him. "And that's not what I meant by 'do you like Betty?' I meant would you want to date her?"

"We went on a date," he muttered. "Once. Last Halloween. I took her to the sushi bar across the street from the Meade building. It was probably the most stressful lunch she'd ever have."

"You didn't answer my question," she scolded. "Do you like her enough to date her?"

"Yes…" he mumbled, looking down at his hands. "But she doesn't reciprocate the feeling."

Ana scoffed. "I highly doubt that Betty doesn't at least think you're cute," she said. "Because you are. And you're sweet. And I'm _positive_ I saw her looking at you with longing in her eyes."

"No, she didn't."

"Don't tell me I'm wrong, Henry," she said, hitting his arm lightly. "I don't like it. She _likes_ you. Go for it. Ask her out on a date again. You never know. Perhaps you two will become more than just friends."

"I doubt it."

"Why?"

"If you haven't noticed, Ana, I'm not exactly the kind of guy girls like to date." He sighed and dried his hands. He sighed again and leaned on the counter, his head hanging a little.

"Hey, hey, hey," she said gently. She lifted his head slightly to look into his eyes. "Henry, look at me." His eyes met hers. "Don't make me repeat myself. You, from what I've seen, anyway, are an amazing person, Henry. You're cute. And you're sweet. Betty would be stupid to say no to you. Go for it." She smiled warmly at him and walked away toward her bedroom to get dressed.

"Ana," Henry called after her. She turned and waited for him to continue. "Who's Victor?"

"Does it matter?" she replied, still smiling, then continued to her room. After a few minutes, she heard the front door open and close. She sighed, changed into some loungewear and flopped onto her bed, turned on the television to play one of her favourite movies, _King Arthur_, and pulled her knitting from her bedside table drawer. Sighing again, she settled herself for a long day of lonesomeness.

Several hours and three movies later, Ana heard the front door slam and Christina call out, "Ana, where are you?"

"Bedroom."

Christina entered the bedroom and flipped on the lights. "Have you been in here all day?" she asked. She looked at which movie Ana was currently engrossed in. "_Tristan & Isolde_?" she said, walking over to the bed and flopping onto it, kicking off her shoes. "What else today?"

"_King Arthur_ and _A Knight's Tale_," Ana replied. "It's armour day." They watched the film in relative silence for a while until Ana asked, "Why did you have Henry stay here last night?" She looked over at her cousin. "Was it necessary?"

Christina looked like she was caught off guard by the questions. "Well, I…" she stammered, thinking quickly. "I didn't think it was a good idea for you to stay alone last night and I had an early meeting with the photo department this morning. Just because Henry doesn't work on Saturdays doesn't mean I don't either."

Ana paused the movie and looked directly at Christina. "Christina," she said softly. "I appreciate what you're trying to do. But I wouldn't bother with it."

"Why in Heaven's name not?"

"Because I'm only going to be here for a few weeks while I get the article written," Ana replied. "And besides, there's something between him and Betty. And I don't want to ruin that. It looks genuine."

"Ana, you're too good a person," Christina said, picking up Ana's knitting. "Scarf?" Ana nodded. "Are you going to add any fringe? It needs it."

"Yes, I'm going to add fringe," Ana smiled. "And stop changing the subject."

"I'm not. You don't want to try your luck with a guy you actually _like_ because you're certain he's in love with someone else. You're either too good a person, or crazy."

"Let's go with the former." Ana sighed and put her knitting away. "Do you have any designs for me?"

* * *

_Sorry it's on the short side. Anyways, I'd like to humbly thank QueenMaple for helping with some of this during our late-night chats._

_--singing.mouse_


	4. Are You Mad?

_Chapter Four: Are You Mad?_

At 10.30 sharp Monday morning, Betty, Daniel and Henry arrived at the closet to find Christina, Jonathan and Ana already there, hard at work. Jonathan was fussing about the lighting in the large room while Christina was bent over some sketches on the table and Ana was holding up two pairs of boots, one black, the other white, to the light, trying to decide which she liked better.

Ana was standing in nothing but a white shift, white knickers, white stiffened wool bodice and white stockings that disappeared up under her knickers which probably would have proved to be thigh-highs upon closer inspection. Her hair was pinned up away from her face in an elegant Victorian up-do. She decided on the white boots and pulled them on when she noticed the three had arrived. "About time you showed up," she said, smiling. "You'll have to forgive my wardrobe's lack of actual clothing. There was a tear along one of the main seams in my dress and it's being mended at the moment."

She stood and walked over to them, looking a little odd in all white Victorian underclothes and a pair of white boots. "Now, we're going to take your measurements and fit you into pre-made outfits," she explained, pulling Betty from among the men and forcing her into a little spin. "Then we'll take test shots to help us decide what we're going to do for the final photo shoot. This is mainly to give us an idea as to what we're working with and how to overcome certain obstacles that may arise." She gave Betty an up and down examination. "You're about Amelia's size," she muttered, thinking. "All right, then. Daniel, Henry, go see Christina about your measurements. Betty, come with me. I think I may already have a dress for you."

Betty followed Ana into another part of the closet and it felt like she had stepped backwards in time. Victorian dresses were strewn _everywhere_. They were on dummies, chairs, racks, hanging hooks, counters. There were boots filling a shoe rack similar to a bookshelf. But while Betty gawked at their surroundings, Ana had been digging through the dresses. She pulled one out and held it up so Betty could see it. "Oh my god," Betty said. "That's beautiful."

Ana smiled. "I'm glad you think so," she replied. "Because you're going to wear it." She hung the crème and red velvet dress on a hook nearby.

"Ana, I can't wear that," Betty protested. "It's too small."

"Nonsense." Ana pulled out another stiffened wool bodice. "If you put this on, you'll fit into it just fine. Now, let's get you into the proper underclothes."

"P-proper underclothes?" Betty repeated. She gestured to what Ana was wearing. "Proper underclothes? What, that?"

"Yes," Ana answered. "Stop complaining and get changed." She shoved a shift and knickers into Betty's hands and pointed to a small changing room. "Go on. They're not going to eat you." Betty hesitated one moment too long. Ana turned her and gave her a little push towards the changing room. "Get changed, we're on a schedule." While Betty changed into the underclothes, Ana dug around for a pair of white thigh-high stockings for Betty to wear. She found them just as Betty exited the changing room. "Perfect timing." She tossed the stockings to Betty. "Put these on, please." When Betty had done as she was asked, Ana walked over to her, holding the bodice.

"Do I have to?" Betty asked.

Ana nodded. "Now, this laces in the back, so slip your arms through," she said, pulling the bodice onto Betty and beginning to lace it up. She laced it gently, then said, "Brace yourself. I won't hurt you, but you might just topple over." Betty held onto the nearest clothing rack for dear life as Ana yanked and pulled the laces tighter around her. When the lace tightening was finished, Ana smiled. "Now, let me help you into the dress. It can be rather complicated." Ana helped Betty into the red and crème velvet dress and did up the buttons up the back. "Comfortable?" Betty nodded. "Good. Petticoat." Betty stepped into the crème underskirt and pulled it up to her waist and Ana tightened the lacing before dropping Betty's red skirt. "Still comfortable?" Betty nodded again. "Good." Ana took a rather interestingly shaped pillow from amidst all the dresses and shoes. It had a ribbon strap sewn to it. "This is going to feel rather odd, Betty. This is your bustle. Or, as Chrissie has called them in the past, your bum pillow."

"That goes on my _butt_?" Betty asked, surprised.

"Of course," Ana said brightly. "It goes under all your skirts, including the petticoat, and it gives the traditional shape of the Victorian lady. I wear one, too. Come on." They lifted Betty's skirts and fastened the pillow around her waist. Ana straightened the fabric of the skirts. "We're missing something…"

"Shoes?"

"Oh, right!" Ana went to the shoe rack and picked out a pair of black boots. "All right. Sit down. Carefully; I don't want you to fall." Betty carefully sat down, feeling a little odd with the pillow on her bum, and Ana helped her into the boots, lacing them up to her ankles. Ana stood and smiled. "You're almost done. I just need to do your hair."

"What's wrong with my hair?" Betty asked, instinctively reaching up and touching it.

"Nothing," Ana said, wheeling Betty over to a make up table. It was convenient that Betty had sat down on a rolling chair. Ana ran a brush through Betty's hair and began pinning it up quickly. "Your hair's beautiful. We just need to have it styled in the proper Victorian manner." She used a curling iron and curled several sausage curls that cascaded gently down the back of Betty's head, spilling from the bun Ana had pinned there. "There. Let's go see what Chrissie's been able to do with Daniel and Henry."

Betty followed Ana out to the main room of the closet. Ana's eyes were met with the sight of Daniel and Henry dressed rather dashingly in their Victorian outfits. "Hmm," she murmured, approvingly. "You look good. No, you really do." She smiled and sighed, then presented Betty to them.

"Oh my god!" Christina grinned, running over to Betty and Ana. "Oh, Betty! You look absolutely gorgeous!" She forced her into a spin. "I know it's only a new outfit and hairdo, but, Saints alive! You're even more beautiful than usual!" She turned to the men. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Jonathan rolled his eyes and returned to his work. "Ignore him," Ana whispered. Daniel and Henry seemed lost for words. They kept opening their mouths to speak, only to close them again. They stammered a little, but didn't form sentences. "I'm going to assume they like it," Ana smiled. "Okay, let's get started. Betty, Daniel." She led Betty up to the small platform Jonathan had set up for the preliminary shoot and helped her up the steps. Daniel was still gawking at Betty. "Daniel! Move your bum!" He snapped out of his trace and stood on the platform beside Betty.

Ana looked over at Jonathan who was still playing with the settings on his camera. She cleared her throat and he looked up. "Go ahead, Stacia," he said.

"Okay," Ana said brightly. "Henry, you just hang on for a tick, all right?" He nodded. She turned to Betty and Daniel. "Okay, Daniel, stand on her right. Good, thank you. Daniel, face flat to front. A little more. That's great. Now, Betty, your hips and legs need to face Daniel so we get a lovely view of the figure of the dress and the detail of the skirt. That's it, thank you. Now, turn your left shoulder out so your torso is facing slightly out. Yes, I know it's uncomfortable because of the bodice. You'll get used to it, trust me. Now, Betty, your right arm should be flat against his back, your hand between his shoulder blades. Daniel, your left arm should wrap around her waist, your hand on her hip, gently, but protectively, as though you're _daring_ any man steal her from you. Betty, your left hand on his stomach by his missing pocket watch. Christina!" Christina looked up from her designs. "Pocket watch?"

"Oh! Right!" Christina disappeared into the accessories closet and reappeared less than a minute later with a gold pocket watch with a chain. "I'm so sorry." She gave Daniel the watch.

But Daniel seemed to have no idea what to do with the watch. Ana climbed onto the platform and stuck the watch into his vest pocket and attached the chain to the middle button-hole on the vest. "Okay," she said. "Betty, left hand on his stomach near the chain. And Daniel, right hand on your coat, holding the lapel. Similar to how they always portray, I think it was, Abraham Lincoln?" She looked them over. "Perfect!" She stepped off the platform and gestured to her brother. "Take it away, Jonathan. And remember, you two, no smiling. It took forever for the image to set on the film or whatever they used, I can't quite recall at the moment, so they couldn't smile. But at least _try_ to look like you're in love." She looked them over once again. "Oh! Betty, may I have your glasses?" She reached up and Betty handed down her glasses. "These frames aren't period and we don't have time to order ones that are. So you and Henry are going blind for the shoot unless you have contacts, okay?"

"Okay."

Jonathan began shooting his preliminary photos as Christina answered a text message on her cell. "Ana, your dress is ready," she said. "It's in the Vintage closet."

"Thank you, Chrissie," Ana said, walking away to the Vintage closet. Her dress was hanging on the same hook she had Betty's dress on earlier. She walked up to the ice blue satin dress and gently ran her fingers across the detail of the front of the bodice. She had always loved this dress. The ice pink sash off-set the blue of the dress perfectly and gave it an elegantly simple and maidenly look to it. Sighing contentedly, she took it off the hangar and undid the buttons down the back of the dress.

"I don't think I've ever seen so many buttons," Henry said, startling her. He was standing in the doorway, watching her. "Here, let me help." He held the dress while she stepped into it and slipped her arms into the sleeves and adjusted the dress to fit properly and he moved around her to do up the buttons. "Now, how does this sash-thing work? It's already in a perfect bow."

Ana smiled and reached behind her. "There are hook and eye fastenings on it," she explained, fastening it. "Thank you, Henry." She slipped on her white petticoat and adjusted the fastenings. After she checked her hair, all the while aware of Henry's eyes on her, they returned to the prelim shoot and waited until Jonathan was ready for them.

"All right, then," Jonathan said after a few minutes. "Betty, Daniel, you're done. Ana, Henry, get up there." They did as they were told and waited for further instructions. "Do the same thing Betty and Daniel did." Again, they obeyed their instructions. "Wait, that's boring. And the height difference makes it look…odd." He thought for a moment. "We need an armchair, Christie."

"An armchair?" Christina repeated. "Where do you suppose I find an armchair?" She sighed. "Jon, you're just going to have to make do without it. Use a normal chair." She pointed to one of the white chairs that were usually in the room. "They're not armchairs, but they'll have to do. They're just test shots for wardrobe, anyway. Don't get particular."

Jonathan rolled his eyes and sighed. "Fine," he muttered before lifting one of the chairs onto the platform. He pointed to his sister. "You. Sit." Ana sat, tucked one ankle behind the other, her knees pointing off to her right and, with a straight back, folded her hands in her lap. Jonathan got onto the platform and positioned Henry around to stand behind the right side of the chair with his left hand on the back of the chair and his right clutching his lapel. Jonathan spent about twenty minutes with their portion of the shoot. Finally, he lowered his camera and said, "You know, I haven't seen much love in this room today. The men merely look mildly uncomfortable and the women have only managed slight adoration. Therefore, I want to see if you can accomplish true love _while_ smiling."

"Oh, come on, Jonathan," Ana protested. "These three are obviously uncomfortable in their outfits. Let's wrap it up and get on with our other work."

"No, and promise you'll stop criticizing my ideas," he replied quickly. She nodded silently. "Let's try the smiling thing." They spent roughly twenty minutes trying to look like they were in love with the proper person, but Jonathan claimed they failed miserably even with the smiling. "Okay, new plan. For the next two weeks, you date your partner and then we'll see where we stand."

"Date?" Betty, Daniel and Henry repeated in unison. "What do you mean, date?" Betty demanded.

"Exactly what I said," Jonathan answered. "You will date your partner for the next two weeks to grow closer and at least pretend you're in love."

Daniel turned to Ana, who had kept quiet. "Aren't you going to say anything?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I promised I wouldn't."

"_Say something!_" Daniel, Betty and Henry nearly yelled.

Ana turned to her brother and cleared her throat. And then the yelling began. "Date our partner for two weeks? Are you mad?" she said. "There are _so_ many factors you obviously haven't even _begun_ to consider. What if one of them already has a significant other? Daniel and Betty can't date! He's her _boss_! Have you lost your mind? And besides, two weeks? Victor's coming in _one_ week!"

"I don't _care_!" Jonathan yelled right back at her. "Victor's going to have to wait! _And_, Henry's going to move into your apartment _tonight_ and Betty's moving into Daniel's loft _tonight_! Stop complaining. You're all going to do it!" He stormed out of the closet.

Ana tried to run after him. "Victor is _not_ going to have to wait!" she screamed. "You bastard!" There was the sound of some rather large piece of furniture being moved. "Owww… Dammit!"


	5. Ddylech chywilyddia Christina!

_Chapter Five: Ddylech chywilyddia Christina!_

_Darling dearest Victor—_

_Unfortunately, there happens to be a slight problem with our plan as it currently stands. You can blame Jonathan for this, in case you were wondering. I will be having a guest for the next two weeks. So our options are this: you sleep in my bed and I sleep on the sofa, you stay at Christina's apartment or you sleep in my bed and I stay at Christina's. Whichever you approve of will be perfect for me. Just let me know, okay, love?_

_Love Ana_

Ana reread the email before clicking 'Send' and going to bed. She prayed that Victor would understand. They had been planning his trip to New York for months and she would hate to have to reschedule or even cancel all because of her brother. But before she could fall asleep, Christina walked in and flipped on the lights, saying, "Get out of bed. Get dressed. You're going to the club with me since Henry says you seem depressed."

She rolled over and curled up deeper into her bed, pulling the blanket over her head and ignoring her cousin. "I'm not going," she whined through the blanket. "I'm exhausted. I need to _sleep_."

Christina tried to pull the blanket away, but Ana had an incredibly tight hold on it. "No, you _want_ to sleep," she said. "You _need_ to cheer up." She tried once again to get Ana out of bed with no luck. "You want to play that game? Fine." Christina walked over to the door, opened it and called, "All right, Henry. Burn the chocolate!"

"Gotcha!" Henry called back from the vicinity of the kitchen. The distinctive sound of a crème brûlée torch being lit sounded through the apartment.

"No!" Ana screeched, leaping out of bed and running to the kitchen. "Henry! Henry, stop, stop, stop, stop, **_STOP_**!" She slid to a stop in the kitchen, running into the kitchen table. She relaxed when she saw he was using the torch to light the front left burner of her stove. "Henry…"

He grinned teasingly at her. "Sorry," he said. "I couldn't help but enjoy the prank. You should get your stove looked at. The burners don't light on their own."

She stalked over to him and smacked him soundly on the arm. "You're terrible," she muttered, taking the torch from him and putting it out then away. She returned to her bedroom to find her bed completely devoid of the bedclothes. Christina was seated, smiling pleasantly, on the edge of the naked bed. "Get dressed," she said. "We're going to the club."

Forty-five minutes later, Christina dragged her complaining cousin into _Boylesque_, the strip club on 34th and 7th. "Come _on_, Ana," Christina said, pulling roughly on Ana's arm. However, Ana was putting up a terrific resistance. "You need this. You need to relax and let go for a little while."

"I would _never_ have allowed you to take me out of my apartment if I had _any_ inkling that you were dragging me to _this_ sort of lecherous, sinful, degrading, 'n bechadurus, yn difreinio, ffieiddiwch andras addola bath chan chyflea! Dydy absolwt gwaradwydda a 'ch hyd yn oed adnabod ble hon chyflea ydy! Dwi ysgytiedig a brawychedig a 'm addef chwaer, 'm anwylyn berson i mewn 'r 'n gyfa byd ddeuwch 'ma at lacia a fedda 'i hun! Ddylech chywilyddia Christina!"

"Enough with the Welsh, y'showoff!" Christina muttered, giving one final tug on Ana's arm, nearly ripping it from her shoulder and finally succeeding in pulling her fully into the club. "You are going to like this whether ya want to or not!"

After Ana was carded to even get _into_ the club, Christina waltzed off to enjoy the sights, while Ana resigned herself to one of the empty booths in the back of the club and glare at her cousin whenever she saw her. After a few minutes, a shirtless waiter approached her. "What can I get you tonight?" he asked, smiling charmingly down at her.

"Strawberry Daiquiri," she replied, instinctively pulling out her id. "Yes, it's a real id. Yes, I'm twenty-four. And _yes_, I want it with the rum _and_ schnapps. Make it a large."

The waiter smiled at her again and left with her order. Three minutes later, he returned with the largest daiquiri Ana had ever seen. "On the house," he said. She raised an eyebrow at his generosity. "Beautiful women with accents have always been my weakness." Just as he was turning to leave, he muttered, loud enough to be heard over the music, "Turn the napkin over when you're done with your drink."

Curious, Ana picked up her drink and flipped the napkin underneath it over. On it was written, _Call me: 555-6227 –Erik_. Ana smirked and pocketed the napkin and silently drank the daiquiri. Erik continued to come by to see if she needed anything else. She usually smiled and shook her head. After a while, she saw that Christina was having trouble standing upright, so she decided they ought to go home so they wouldn't end up passed out on the floor of the club.

A half hour later, Ana stumbled clumsily into her apartment to find Henry waiting up for her. "Oops," she giggled, drunk. "G'night, Chrissie! Oh, wait… She's downstairs." She closed the door and accidentally fell against it. The next thing she knew, Henry was directly next to her, a concerned look on his face.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, guiding her over to the sofa and sitting her down.

She giggled again and said, "A little bit." She leaned towards Henry and grinned. "Hey… Hey! You're really cute!" She traced a line on his cheek with her finger. Then she leaned in and kissed him. He was surprised at first, but he leaned into the kiss and began to kiss her back. She lightly licked his lower lip and he opened his mouth a little and she slipped her tongue into it and gently played games with his. Then, it was over and Ana was stumbling through the hall to her bedroom. "G'night, Henry-poo!" she called over her shoulder.

She entered her room and shut the door. Sighing, she rubbed her eyes and changed back into her pyjamas. Henry had been kind enough to redress her bed while she and Christina were out and she flopped onto it. As she curled under her warm, cosy blanket, her cell phone rang. "Hello?" she answered, her speech totally clear of any drunken slur.

"Did it work?" her cousin's voice issued through the earpiece.

"Perfectly," Ana replied, grinning like a mad woman. "He even reciprocated. And best of all, he's going to write it off as a drunk Ana who didn't realise what she was doing. And in two weeks, he's going to go back to Betty and be happy with her. And at least I got one kiss out of it, right?"

She could hear Christina sigh. "Whatever," she said. "Good night."

"Good night, Chrissie." Ana switched off her phone and rolled over to go to sleep.

But, unbeknownst to Ana, Henry had been standing outside her bedroom door, his hand on the handle and his ear pressed against the wood, listening to every word she said to her cousin.


	6. Le Coup De Foudre

_Chapter Six: Le Coup De Foudre_

Ana walked into _Mode_ and approached the receptionist desk. "Hi," she said to the pretty blond working there. Well, working as in she was reading a magazine. "We haven't officially met. I'm Anastacia Watson."

"Amanda," the blond said, without looking up. "What do you need?"

"I was wondering, Amanda, if Betty was in yet," Ana answered, a little annoyed with Amanda's rudeness.

Amanda shrugged. "I don't know," she replied. "Go check her desk." She gestured behind her towards the majority of the office before going back to her magazine.

"Thank you," Ana said, sweeping away to Betty's desk.

A curly-haired, tall young man quickly walked up to Amanda's desk and leaned on it. "Who was _that_?" he asked, rather interested. "And why was she looking for _Betty_?"

"Some woman named Anastacia Watson or whatever," Amanda said, looking up. "I have no idea why she was looking for Betty. How did your date go last night, Marc?"

"Terrible," Marc sighed. "He was a total _drag_. Wouldn't stop talking about himself. Cute, but there's no way with an ego like that."

"Marc!"

Marc stood up straight, a slightly frightened look on his face. "Talk to you later!" he said before scooting off to his desk.

Meanwhile, Ana wound her way through _Mode_ to find Betty at her desk, playing solitaire. Ana leaned on the edge of the desk. "Working hard?" she asked, smiling.

Betty started. "Oh, my goodness, you scared me," she said, grinning. "What-what are you doing here?"

"I was looking for Henry," Ana said, sitting on Betty's smallish filer. "He left before I got up this morning and he's not answering his phone."

"What time did you get up?"

"Eight."

Betty looked thoughtful. "Hmmm…" she said. Then she picked up her phone and punched in an extension. "Hi, Henry, it's Betty. I had a quick question for you. Could you come up for a bit? Great. Thanks." She hung up. "He'll be up as soon as he can."

"Thanks, Betty," Ana smiled.

"So, is there something wrong?"

"Hm?" Ana murmured. "Oh! No. Nothing's wrong. I just have a little headache, that's all." The two girls chatted animatedly while waiting the six minutes or so for Henry to arrive. When he did, Ana's smile brightened and she asked, "What happened to you this morning, Henry? You disappeared."

His usually cheery disposition had grown slightly cold at the sight of Ana. He promptly turned on his heel and walked away. "Henry!" Ana said, jumping off the filer and walking quickly after him. "Henry, what's wrong?" He ignored her. "Henry!" She grabbed his arm and pulled him through the closest closed door, which happened to be the door to the ladies room. "What's going on? Talk to me!"

"You don't remember what happened last night, do you?" he asked, his tone flat. "Were you so drunk that you completely forgot you kissed me and went straight to bed without a single explanation? Or were you so 'drunk' that you forgot that sound travels well through your bedroom door?"

Ana felt the blood drain from her face and her throat dried and tightened. "Y-you heard that?" she whispered.

"Anastacia, I heard _every_ word you said to Christina!" he hissed. "Can you realise so little about yourself to know that, while you may have been a remarkable actress while at finishing school, you somehow cannot conceal some of your emotions? And can you think so little of me to think that I wouldn't care about your feelings?"

"I don't want to have this conversation with you right now, Henry," Ana muttered, glancing quickly around her. "Neither here, nor now."

"Too bad," he said, sitting her down on one of the stools in the lounge of the restroom. "We're going to have this conversation. Right here. Right now."

"No."

"Yes."

"_No._"

"_Yes._"

"Non."

"Oui."

"Yn ddim!"

"I don't even know what language that is," Henry sighed. "_Please_, Ana."

She looked him in the eyes and saw a genuine pleading in his chocolaty brown pools. Sighing, she nodded. "Fine," she replied. "But, if I use French or Welsh, you're not getting a translation."

He smiled faintly. "Well, that's not fair," he said softly.

She tightened her ponytail and leaned forward. "So," she said. "Begin."

He blushed slightly. "Why did you pretend to be drunk?" he asked.

"Because I like you and I knew that I couldn't just kiss you," she explained. "You would have been repulsed as you're clearly in love with Betty."

"I'm clearly in love with Betty?" he repeated.

"Yes."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm _not_."

"Yes, you _are_."

"Pas de, Je suis pas."

"Oui, vous êtes."

"Je crois moi vouloirsavons si moi étions dans amour à quelqu'un!"

"Sain, il est évident que vous faites pas!"

"Ana, enchanté savons je suis pas dans amour par les vôtres?"

"Parce que à être amoureux de moi c'est folie! Vous avez seul sus moi plusieurs jours! Vous ne pas être je ne peux pas rapide à amour!"

"Le coup de foudre?"

"Il y a pas de tellement truc."

"Liar," he said, dropping the French. "There is _such_ a thing. You _know_ there is."

"I know no such thing, thank you very much," she replied, a haughty tone to her voice. "There is no proof of its existence. Therefore, it does not exist."

"Really," he said as Amanda walked into the room.

She stopped short when she saw Ana and Henry. "Am I interrupting?" she asked, her eyebrow raised. "I thought you were looking for Betty."

"I was," Ana replied. "And then I was looking for Henry."

"Hey, wait a minute," Amanda said, realising Henry was most definitely _not_ a woman. "What are you doing in here? It's the _ladies_ room." She rolled her eyes and walked over to the sinks to check her make up.

Ana and Henry quickly stood and walked out of the bathroom, neither looking at the other. She tried to overcome her blush as she mumbled, "We can finish this conversation tonight."

Henry looked at her. "What else is there to talk about?" he asked. He pulled her in close to him and kissed her before turning on his heel and promptly walking away before Ana could protest or say a word.

She instead, pulled out her phone and dialled the first speed dial number as she watched him walk away from her. The line rang twice before being answered. "Chrissie," Ana said, slightly in shock. "We need to talk." Without waiting for a reply, she snapped her phone shut.

* * *

Translations:

_Non_—No

_Oui_—Yes

_Yn ddim_—No

_Pas de , Je suis pas_. – No, I am not.

_Oui , vous êtes._ – Yes, you are.

_Je crois moi vouloir savons si moi étions dans amour à quelqu'un._ – I believe I would know if I were in love with someone.

_Sain , il est évident que vous faites pas_! – Well, it is obvious that you do not!

_Ana, enchanté savons je suis pas dans amour par les vôtres?_ – Ana, how do you know I am not in love with you?

_Parce que à être amoureux de moi c'est folie! Vous avez seul sus moi plusieurs jours! Vous ne pas être je ne peux pas rapide à amour!_ – Because to be in love with me is madness! You have only known me a few days! You cannot be that quick to love!

_Le coup de foudre_? – Love at first sight?

_Il y a pas de tellement truc._ – There is no such thing.

**Quick Request:** I don't mean to sound whiney, but whoever left me the Anon. review stating this was a Mary Sue fic, would you please send me a personal message so I can better understand how it is so and how I may improve my writing. You merely told me what I was doing wrong, I suppose, but did not give any suggestions beyond, "make it more subtle." Thank you! --singing.mouse


	7. You Look Like Hell

_Chapter Seven: You Look Like Hell_

"Ana!" Christina cried, frustrated with her cousin. "Y'have to calm down! So, he kissed you. So what? You _like_ him, don't you?"

Her cousin sighed and flopped onto the white couch in the main room of the closet. "I don't know," she whined, rubbing her eyes. "I just… I mean, I didn't… Oy…"

"Complete and coherent sentences would be appreciated," Christina suggested, sitting across from Ana on the table. She wasn't entirely sure she could handle her cousin in such a state. Ana looked on the verge of tears and Christina knew she lived by the mantra _never let them see you cry._ Where Ana learned it, Christina had no idea, but she knew her cousin rarely strayed from it. "Now, take a deep breath and try again."

"Chrissie, I never wanted this," she explained. "He has a really good thing with Betty; I don't want to ruin that. Betty is a wonderful girl who deserves the best she can get. And she has the capability to get Henry. I don't want to take him from her."

"Then don't," Christina said gently. "Tell Henry this and make it especially clear that all you wanted from him was that one kiss you tricked him into." She reached out and gently took Ana's hand. "But later. Get some rest. You look like hell."

"May I…?" Ana gestured to the couch.

Christina rolled her eyes and stood. "Yes, of course," she sighed. "No one will bother you." She walked away and stopped at the door, watching her cousin get comfortable on the couch. Christina knew that Ana didn't need additional stress caused by her brother. She was beginning to feel sorry for her. But she knew that there was very little she could do to help. With a sigh, she returned to work.

"Christina!"

A few hours later, Christina walked down the stairs to find Betty standing just inside the closet entrance. "What're you shouting about, Betty?" she asked, taking a quick look at Ana, who was either amazingly sleeping through the shouting or simply pretending or trying to do so. "What's got you up in such a knot?"

'Up in a knot' seemed an understatement, however. Betty was not merely upset. She was decisively livid. Her usually calm, kind face was twisted up into a furious expression. "Where is she?" Betty demanded. "Where's Ana? I need to speak with her right now!"

"She's on the couch," Christina answered. "But what's going on? Why are you so upset?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find out," Betty muttered, marching over to the couch where Ana still lay. Betty pulled her off the couch and demanded, "Get up!"

Rubbing her hip, Ana stood and inquired, "What do you want?" Betty said nothing. Instead, she slapped Ana soundly across the face. Christina was shocked. She had never seen Betty this mad before. "Excuse me?" Ana asked. Her manner was polite, but her tone somewhat icy. Christina knew her cousin was getting angry quickly.

Betty slapped Ana again. "You _kissed_ Henry!" Betty screeched, drawing a small, but attentive crowd from the many rooms of the closet. Christina quickly shooed them away.

"I was _drunk!_"

"You kissed him _twice?_"

"What? No, no, no, no, no. Betty, the second time, _he_ kissed _me!_ Not my fault! Don't tell me you're listening to that witch, Amanda!"

Before Christina could react, Betty had a handful of Ana's meticulously pinned-up curls and was pulling on them, forcing Ana to bend over. "Do you love him?" Betty demanded. Ana whimpered in pain. "Do you love Henry?"

"No," Ana gasped. "I will freely admit that I find him incredibly attractive, but I doubt anything I feel for him is anything bordering love." Betty tightened her grip on Ana's hair and pulled harder. "Are you determined to rip out all my hair?"

"Are you making him believe you do?" Betty demanded, ignoring her captive's question.

Christina cringed at her cousin's expression of pain. "I'm not making him do anything," Ana replied. She looked on the verge of tears. _Don't let us see you cry, Ana,_ Christina thought, trying to send good vibes to Ana for strength and patience and good vibes to Betty to calm somewhat down. "If he believes it, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to hurt him."

"Swear to me that you will leave him alone," Betty growled into Ana's ear, loud enough for Christina to hear. "Swear it!"

Ana suddenly had a calm, serene expression on her face. "Let me go," she said lowly, "and I will." Christina quickly thought back to try to remember why Ana's expression was familiar. As Betty released Ana's hair and the model stood up, brushing her curls from her face, Christina suddenly recognised the expression. And she knew that Ana had _no_ intention of following through on her promise. Ana gave Betty an icy stare, turned on her heel and walked swiftly from the closet, her hair falling out of the intricate up-do it had been in.

Christina walked up to Betty. "This isn't going to end, is it?" Betty asked.

"Probably not," Christina replied. "And trust me, Ana can be a bitch when she wants to."

"Does she want to now?"

"You slapped her twice and yanked on her hair," Christina said. "It doesn't look good for you, Betty."

* * *

"You look like hell," Amanda commented snottily as Ana walked out of the elevator and directly to her desk. "Betty's not here."

"I'm not looking for Betty," Ana said coldly.

"Then what do you want?"

"I believe you and I have a common irritant."

Amanda smiled wickedly.


End file.
